


On Borrowed Time

by Arbryna



Category: Lost Girl
Genre: 4x08 Groundhog Fae, Episode Related, F/F, Missing Scene, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 11:52:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arbryna/pseuds/Arbryna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if the time loop didn't restart as quickly as we thought?</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Borrowed Time

_“Tell me this wasn’t on your list.”_

Right now, Tamsin can’t remember anything else that might have been on her list. This—Bo’s hands hot on her back, Bo’s mouth hungrily devouring her own, Bo’s body pressed tightly up against her—this is everything.

There are reasons this might be a bad idea, but Tamsin is drunk and she’s already been through this loop more times than she can count and maybe Bo’s onto something with this whole no-thinking, anything-goes thing. She certainly can’t find anything to complain about at the moment, as Bo finally works her jacket off and her hands are free to tangle in Bo’s hair.

The jacket falls to the ground, and Tamsin briefly considers picking it up—she likes this jacket, she doesn’t want it trampled by some drunken idiot—but in a few minutes she’ll reset again anyway and it’ll be like none of this ever happened.

All the more reason to enjoy it while it lasts. Tamsin moans against Bo’s lips as sure fingers slide under her tank top, teasing at heated skin. Blunt nails scrape along her abdomen, sending little shivers shooting straight to her spine. Her fingers tighten in Bo’s hair, and she smiles at the little hiss Bo presses into her mouth.

Then her tank top is tugged unceremoniously over her head, and Tamsin gasps as cold air hits heated flesh. Bo tosses the shirt over her shoulder without a backward glance, focused instead on the skin she’s just revealed. Cheers erupt around them, and Tamsin is vaguely aware of Choga peeling the shirt from his face and waving it around before Bo’s teeth sink into the curve of her neck and shoulder and her eyes slam shut as fireworks explode behind her eyelids.

She always knew this would be incredible—even before she knew who Bo was, before she realized that Bo was anything more than your every-day run-of-the-mill succubus. This is what Bo was made for, designed for—she knows just how to touch, just where to press her lips. And her tongue— _god_ that tongue. It traces hot, meandering patterns into Tamsin’s throat, slides over her collarbone, drags along the edge of her bra, and all Tamsin can do is clutch at Bo’s shoulders as her body turns to molten lead.

Her bra loosens and falls away, followed by another round of enthusiastic cheering. Tamsin isn’t ashamed of her body—she’s fucking hot and she knows it—but it’s still weird, putting on a show like this.

But Bo’s mouth closes around her nipple, and suddenly it’s like the rest of the room—the rest of the _world_ —doesn’t exist. Bo’s hands burn into Tamsin’s sides, holding her steady as her tongue and teeth work magic on Tamsin’s flesh.

It feels— _god_ it feels good. Tamsin doesn’t even notice Bo moving her until she feels the table bang against the back of her legs. There’s a crash as a couple of glasses fall to the ground and shatter, but Tamsin has more important things to pay attention to. Like one of Bo’s knees wedging between her own, pressing up hard through her jeans. She finds herself grateful for the table she’s half-leaning on now, because her knees are probably just a step short of useless.

When Bo moves to switch to Tamsin’s other breast, Tamsin reaches up to yank hard on Bo’s hair, pulls her back up to kiss her again. The smooth leather of Bo’s dress brushes against hard nipples, sending jolts of electric sensation down Tamsin’s spine to pool between her legs. Tamsin grinds down against Bo’s thigh, whimpering when she can’t get the friction her body is screaming for.

Bo fixes that with a grin and a flick of her wrist, popping open Tamsin’s jeans without missing a beat or a kiss. Her hand works its way into Tamsin’s jeans, past her underwear, and _fuck_ Tamsin knew she was wet but she had no idea how much. Bo’s fingers slip and stutter over slick flesh, press down against her clit, and Tamsin claws at Bo’s shoulders as she arches desperately into the touch.

It’s not enough. She needs more, needs Bo _inside_ , but instead Bo’s hand disappears altogether. Tamsin ignores the needy little whine that catches in the back of her throat (of all the things she’s done tonight, that’s the one she’ll never _ever_ admit to), focuses on helping Bo lift her onto the table. This is _such_ a bottom position, but Tamsin doesn’t give a shit when Bo is yanking her jeans down her thighs like she can’t wait to dive in.

Then Bo’s fingers are back, pushing into her. Tamsin throws her head back, bites down on her lower lip. This is so much more than she ever could have imagined. She can feel her hands shaking where they’re wrapped, white-knuckled, around the edge of the table. She’ll be damned if she lets herself look weak.

Bo’s surprised moan is stifled by Tamsin’s lips pressing hungrily against hers. Tamsin keeps one hand on Bo’s shoulder, for balance and leverage, but the other slides down Bo’s side, moving with purpose to the hem of her dress. As Bo’s fingers thrust into her, Tamsin works hers under the leather, squeezes at the firm muscle there.

Huh. What do ya know…Bo was telling the truth about not wearing underwear. At least, she’s not wearing any tonight, and when Tamsin’s fingers skim down the crease of Bo’s ass and tease at the juncture of her thighs, they meet nothing but slick, hot skin.

Groaning, Tamsin shifts her hand around to the front, plunging between Bo’s legs and pressing hard. Bo moans, her eyes flash blue, and her flesh slides against Tamsin’s fingers as she grinds down.

The hand still buried in Tamsin’s hair slides down to the back of her neck, pulling their lips together again, but this time it’s more than just a kiss. Bo drinks from her, consumes her, and she’s felt this when Bo fed off of her before, but it’s so much more powerful when Bo’s fingers are curled inside her, when she can feel Bo dripping all over her hand.

She’s close, so fucking close, and she knows they need to work fast if they want to finish this before time resets. She slides three fingers into Bo, grinning when the flow of chi cuts off as Bo lets out a little gasping moan. There’s a sense of wonder to this, to knowing that she put that look of hunger on Bo’s face.

Bo recovers quickly, claiming Tamsin’s mouth with renewed ferocity. She adds another finger, thrusts harder and deeper, and Tamsin feels like she’s being pulled apart from both ends, like she’s shattering and melting and exploding all at once.

The first thing Tamsin notices when she can think again is Bo clenching hot around her fingers, Bo’s hips rocking absently against her hand, Bo’s eyes bright electric blue and fixed intently on Tamsin’s face. There’s a look of smug satisfaction there, like Bo is so damned proud of herself for making Tamsin come apart.

A smirk teases at Tamsin’s mouth. _We’ll see about that._

Bo’s eyes fly open wide as Tamsin starts to thrust into her. Tamsin wants to pretend that this is about reclaiming the upper hand, about winning, but there’s a flutter in her chest that suggests a deeper motivation.

“Oh, god,” Bo murmurs, pulling her fingers free so she can brace both hands on Tamsin’s shoulders. Her voice is liquid sex, deep and honey-thick. “Keep going, keep going.”

Tamsin snakes her free hand around Bo’s hips, holding her up and in place, and increases her speed. She leans in to kiss Bo’s neck, nibbling and sucking at the pulse point there, and Bo’s urging dissolves in a series of needy gasps, each one causing sparks to pop in the pit of Tamsin’s stomach.

Time is running out. Tamsin can feel it as sure as she can feel that Bo is rapidly careening toward the edge. She pulls back, unable to deny the urgent need to see Bo when she comes.

And she’s not disappointed, either. The damp flush of Bo’s face, the way her lashes flutter against her cheeks and her breath comes out in labored pants…the way her face contorts as Tamsin curls her fingers to push her over the rest of the way.

In that moment, nothing else matters. Not the past, not the future, not Choga and his skeevy sweat or the loud uproar as the other party guests give out a cheer of “Opa!”. Bo is here and she’s coming undone, she’s coming apart under Tamsin’s touch and it’s the most beautiful thing Tamsin has ever—

Opa? _Wait. No. Not yet. Not yet I can’t lose this yet—_

The next thing Tamsin knows, she’s standing alone in the hallway. Her clothes are back in place, jacket and all, and if she was pissed off about this time-loop shit before, she’s positively homicidal now. Talk about the mother of all bad timing.

Her feet carry her, like they have the past hundred times, to the living room where Bo awaits. She catches the glassy, dazed look on Bo’s face and can’t help but feel smug. She did that.

Okay, so maybe the time loop isn’t _all_ bad.


End file.
